


Sparring Partners

by TheLostPleiad



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, No Smut, Not Beta Read, PTSD reference, Some angst, au where jonathan does not kill every priwen guard he meets, but like...with combat, it's fluff, mcreid banter for the soul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLostPleiad/pseuds/TheLostPleiad
Summary: Jonathan decides he needs to find a healthy outlet for his aggression and turns to McCullum for help.Or, a story in which fighting is the best form of flirting.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 45
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I'm just saying that you can't expect Jonathan to just happily return to a life of chill pacifism after a war and a transformation into a species KNOWN for bloodlust. Johnny boy is proactive and knows he needs to find a way to express his aggression without harming innocents. 
> 
> This is my first time posting fic so I would love feedback but uhh, please be gentle.

A soft splash of shadow fell next to McCullum as he walked the streets of London alone. Pure instinct had his gun cocked in one hand and blade at the ready in the other before his mind had fully registered the threat. He only relaxed slightly when he recognized the tall figure of the doctor who was now standing next to him. 

Reid cocked an eyebrow. “You’d think saving the entirety of London would earn me some credit.”

“This is credit, I’m not killing you on the spot.”

“I mean, you could try.” He teased, easily falling into the pattern of witty banter that grew so naturally between the two men. He was baiting the hunter, ready for a fight.

“Is that a challenge, Reid?” McCullum growled. His blood was already up in anticipation, adrenaline flooding his veins.

And just like that, Jonathan had him. Everyone knew that the best way to get an Irishman to do something was to say he couldn’t. And McCullum, if anything, was Irish to his core. 

A smile played at the edges of the man’s lips, fangs concealed behind the gentlemanly facade. “For old time’s sake? I promise to go easy on you.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare. What’re you up to, anyway? What leechy schemes are you plotting?”

Dr. Jonathan Emmett Reid, did not, under any circumstance, pout. That would be a ridiculous notion. However, he may admit, a look of dissatisfaction may, _may_ , have crossed his face when McCullum did not immediately rise to the bait.

Geoffrey was not a man known for his patience, but he tried. Watching, waiting for the doctor to break and admit to something. His patience was rewarded. 

“What do you want me to say, McCullum?!” He burst out, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’m bored! Bored! I was at war for three years, then was immediately thrown into the thick of an epidemic and the vampire underworld. I thought, now that the epidemic is over, that the peace and quiet might be a nice change of pace. And it was, for a time! Tea with Elisabeth, taking my mother on walks through the park, caring for my patients in a sterile, controlled setting. But everything is so restrained now, I need to hold myself back to such an unbearable degree. I need a fight, I need a _challenge_.”

Traitorous fireworks burst down his spine at the desperation with which Jonathan declared his need. It reminded him too much of that hospital basement, before the fight began, when the leech was totally at his mercy. At the same time -- “I’m not some fucking toy, some way to get your fix, Reid. I’m not a thing to be used.”

“Of course not!” Reid looked distraught at the mere thought. “Forgive me, I’m not phrasing this well.” He ran shaky fingers through his hair, mussing the normally carefully gelled hair as he paced. The shadows seemed to bend to him, coalescing in darker puddles than what should be possible. For the first time, McCullum noticed how agitated he was, bordering on unhinged. “I went from quite a lot of people trying to kill me every night to no one. The cowards at Ascalon certainly won’t touch me, and would I be right to assume your men have been ordered not to attack?”

“It’s for their protection, not yours,” McCullum insisted gruffly. 

“Of course, of course,” he said distractedly, “but still, I have all this restless energy, and nowhere to put it. I thought, perhaps, that maybe… I don’t know. The war is over, so why am I still fighting?” McCullum's heartstrings had long been dulled by a lifetime of hunting, of killing monsters with human faces. But still, he looked at the man -- not simply a leech, despite all his attempts to convince himself to the contrary -- but the man, who looked so lost, so directionless.

McCullum had seen it before, of course. Men after the war, men who joined up with Priwen because they didn’t know what else to do. Men who fought anything and everything because they had nothing else. The fight raged in their veins. Geoffrey couldn’t believe it took until now to see that it raged through the good doctor’s too. 

McCullum did his best to sound soothing. Calm was more the doctor’s forte, not his, but it was unsettling to see him so wound up. “Alright Reid, if you want a fight so badly, you can have it. I’d rather you take it out on me than some innocent. Plus,” he said, unsheathing his sword, “I’ve been meaning to rectify the ending of our last fight.” The words took their time to filter through the doctor's thick skull, but when they did, Jonathan’s grin was brilliant, blinding, and more than a little ferocious. Fangs were on full display, glinting in the dispersed lamplight of a foggy London evening.

“Ground rules first.”

“Of course.” He agreed quickly. McCullum could see the way Reid was coiled, ready to strike, impatient for him to finish setting his guidelines. Even when being -- relatively -- kind, McCullum had to needle the doctor a little, so he took his time in laying down his rules, pretending like he was mulling over various considerations despite having decided on his course of action from the minute Reid voiced his desperate request. He watched him shift, itching for the fight he was promised, and when the tension was stretched to its breaking point, he finally took pity on the poor sod and spoke.

“This is _sparring_ , not a fucking death match. But if you try to bite me, I will kill you. And obviously, no serious maiming. Any restrictions you want put in place?”

“Err,” Reid was pulled out of his haze of anticipation by the shock of the courtesy McCullum extended him. “Just no fire, I suppose, or holy symbols. That would be appreciated.”

“ _That would be appreciated_ ,” McCullum parroted. He smirked slightly, shaking his head. “You came here to pick a fight and still can’t help acting like a fucking toff.”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chuckle as well. “You have a point.” His tone suddenly dropped to a deep earnestness, catching McCullum off guard. “I do want you to know though, I came to you specifically because I respect you, and I feel that you could be a good… _friend_ , if you choose, now that the epidemic is behind us.”

McCullum had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. 

“Just fight me, Reid.” 

He obliged.

Leaping out of the shadows, Reid lunged at Geoffrey, who only barely managed to twist away in time. Readying his sword, he bellowed out his battle cry. The vampire swiped at him with sharp claws and he answered with a slash to the thigh. That would have incapacitated any mortal man, but Reid only stumbled for a minute, leaping back to reassess. He drew his own blade, and then the night was filled with the clash of metal on metal. 

Jonathan _laughed_ , a wild, untamed sound, as he evaded McCullum’s blows. “Come on, Geoffrey, is that the best you got? Your rookies have given me more of a challenge.” He taunted, dancing out of the way of McCullum’s sword. 

“And your form is terrible,” McCullum snarked back, “What, wasn’t swordfighting taught by tutors at whatever posh school you went to?” 

“My weapon of choice in the epidemic was a _hacksaw_ , McCulllum. Do you think I really care about style?” he laughed. 

A joyous haze settled with the mists of the Thames as their combat continued. Cheeky grins and fierce blows were traded until the mortal man grew tired. He overreached in his lunge, and in a moment his back was against the cobblestones, a triumphant smile shone above the tip of his sword on his throat. 

“I think this counts as a victory for me.” The doctor’s voice had returned to its smooth baritone, laced thick with amusement. 

“This is what I get for fighting fair.” McCullum grumbled. “Next time, I won’t go so easy on you.” He did his best not to wheeze, still winded from his back’s impact on the stone. 

“So you want there to be a next time?”

“I’m not stopping until I can beat you.”

“Ah, there’s the war dog I know and love.” Jonathan shook his head as he pulled the other man to his feet. 

“I won’t be running patrols on Thursday, we could meet here, nine o’clock?” 

“It’s a date.”

McCullum blamed the flutter in his heart on the remaining adrenaline. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing bants, Reid has an idea that could be either terrible or great

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for validation and was eager to get this out right away, so it's fairly short and also unedited. Please point out any mistakes and let me know what you think!

The sparring sessions turned into a habit. McCullum found himself looking forward to them, however much that may have been a betrayal to his Priwen ideals. Reid was different, he had accepted that with bruised pride and a confused mind after their fight, for all the pretenses he maintained otherwise. His conversations with the leech doctor proved… enlightening, as they lingered after fights, each unwilling to disturb the satisfied atmosphere that saturated the air. 

He hadn’t been in the war himself, too busy leading the war against the shadows stalking the streets, but hearing Reid talk about it made him understand just how much they had in common. The pain of losing men, the constant threat of violence from both inside and out, the lack of supplies. 

\------

“That was a dirty move!” Jonathan complained.

“You think I’ve lived this long by fighting fair?” Geoffrey barked, the edge of his sword pressed dangerously tight against the soft skin of Jonathan’s neck. He had gotten to their usual spot early to set up the trap, a tripwire ready to loose an orichalum laced bolt on the vampire as a distraction. Not enough to cause serious damage, but enough of a distraction for Geoffrey to pin him down. He grinned smugly at the man underneath him, color high in his cheeks from exertion. 

\------

“You know, I do have work to do. The Guard isn’t going to lead itself. There’s patrols to run, hunts to lead.”

Jonathan’s eyes pricked with longing. “I could help, you know.”

“What, you want me to bring a -- you on my hunts?” He carefully avoided using the word _leech_ to describe Jonathan. He didn’t know when he stopped applying the label to the man (He did know, it was just after their fight in the hospital, when Reid spared him despite having every justification to kill him where he stood). 

Reid fixed him with a _look_ , stubborn jaw set to rival any Irishman’s. “You know I can fight--”

“Yeah, I know very well.”

“--and this way the playing field is leveled somewhat. Think about it, Geoffrey! Your men would be safer for it, and I must admit I would enjoy it as well. I’m not saying I would be an attack dog running wherever you point, but the feral Skals of the epidemic, sewer beasts, Ekons actively causing harm? All fair game. Consider it a healthy outlet for aggression.” Jonathan sent a bitter smile his way. “If I’m going to be this way, I might as well put my skills to good use.” 

“No way in hell.”

Instinctively, McCullum _raged_ against the prospect of bringing Jonathan on the hunts. Allowing a vampire so close to his men, in the presence of so much blood. Betraying Priwen even further by incorporating a vampire into the Guard. He had already betrayed so many of Priwen’s ideals since meeting Reid, but this would be a line that he couldn’t uncross. If he wanted to, he could cut ties right here, end these nightly sparring sessions, and go back to being the single-minded leader of Priwen, indiscriminatory in his view of leeches. (He claimed he could do so, but if speaking honestly, he had already crossed too many lines to be able to return.) Jonathan -- the doctor, the leech, he reprimanded himself. Don’t get familiar -- would be hurt, but he would find another way to cope. Another battle to fight. And if Priwen’s eyes continued to skip over the leech doctor, well, they had other priorities. 

“And why not?” Reid’s eyes flashed.

A larger part of McCullum than he would’ve liked resisted the idea for another reason. He didn’t want to see Reid hurt, didn’t want to risk him falling in battle, despite knowing that the man was altogether capable, a veritable force of nature in his own right. He knew Reid held back in their fights, knew the typically mild-mannered doctor had put down the Disaster threatening England and, by his own admission, defeated the avatar of the mother of all vampires, a being of pure malice and blood rage. No, Jonathan Reid could take care of himself. So why was he so worried at the prospect of him being in danger?

“Don’t you have any survival instincts in that thick head? You’re a _vampire_ , for Christ's sake, asking to go on hunts with the Guard of Priwen.” 

“And I know what I can do and where my skills can be best put to use! I can help people like this, keep more of your men from dying.” He yelled back, incensed at the pigheadedness of the Irishman in front of him. 

He had a point, as much as McCullum hated to admit it. The Guard has been his family for nearly two decades, and while danger was a given with this occupation, it still hurt like hell, every time, when he lost a man in battle. Having Reid on their side could keep them so much safer, not to mention his medical expertise. _Presuming that Reid could control himself around the blood_ , a cynical voice whispered. He shook it off. He trusted Reid, he had seen his control in the lack of reports surrounding Pembroke, the ending of the epidemic, the guilt in his eyes whenever he spoke of the one and only life he ever took.

Reid could tell he was wavering. Damnit, McCullum was never indecisive. He couldn’t afford to be, he had to trust his instincts to survive. But his guts were too tangled up in knots to point him in the right direction. This was a shite time for a crisis of conscience.

And then there was another point to consider…

There was that thrill. Every time he fought Reid, he felt it. That rush from the contact, their clashing power. How would it feel to fight with him, instead of against him? He was selfish for even considering it, for not dismissing it out of hand. 

The man before him was still looking at him with those damn eyes that were far too expressive for any creature of the night, a tentative hope and a fiery stubborness fit to rival McCullum’s own shining through. He exhaled heavily, knowing he had already lost. “How do you expect me to explain to the Guard why there’s a leech in our patrol rotations?”

Jonathan grinned. “I’m sure the _great_ Geoffrey McCullum can think of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, chanting: I don't have time to write 16k of McReid bants I DON'T HAVE TIME TO WRITE 16k OF MCREID BANTS (oh fuck it, we all know that's how this is going to turn out)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Priwen time babey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unedited, so please let me know if you find any typos/anything that doesn't make sense!
> 
> Update 3/7, I realized that I can't really move forward until I overhaul this chapter, so stay tuned for that! School is killing me atm so it might take a bit  
> Update 3/17, redid the fight scene, moved the pub scene to the next chap (which is also undergoing major renovation) so keep an eye out for that!

More than twenty Guardsmen glared at Reid, crossbows lifted and revolvers unholstered. A chaplain in the back was clutching his rosary so tightly that his knuckles were the same shade as Reid’s skin.

Jonathan looked tiredly at his companion. “In my defense, I have had worse ideas,” he murmured. 

McCullum held up a hand. “I’m not sure I want to know.” He turned to his men, sighing at the prospect of what he had to do. Even though he had announced his plans and fought through the main pushback a few nights back, there was bound to be lingering resistance. What he was doing went against all of Priwen’s tenets. “Alright you lot--” 

“Sir, that’s a fucking leech!” A nervous looking rookie called from the crowd, anxiously flicking a lighter. 

“Really?” He sneered, “I hadn’t noticed.” The rookie shrank back under McCullum’s signature glare. 

“Now, as I was fucking _saying_ ,” another cutting glare, “This is Reid. Someone you are all likely familiar with, in one way or another.” Familiar, in this case, meant that everyone in this room had tried to kill the man at some point, and Reid may have responded with force. Considering they were all standing here, however, Jonathan thought he was plenty merciful. Geoffrey seemed to agree. 

“If you’ve fought him, then he’s spared you. Whether you want to admit it or not. That’s the truth of it. He had me on my knees,”

Only Jonathan’s ears picked up the muttered “I bet he did” from a Priwen guard near the back. 

“And let me live when he had no reason to forgive my actions. He’s not responsible for starting the epidemic, but he is responsible for _ending_ it. So, if he is offering Priwen his aid, we are accepting it.” 

Some looked apprehensive, others downright livid, but a few looked like they were seriously considering the advantages of such an arrangement. McCullum was relieved to see that his most trusted lieutenants were among this last group. 

“What kind of ‘aid’ are we talking about?” His second called out. 

“Thank you, Roberts, for not being a hardheaded tool.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Roberts retorted. Now that comment, McCullum did hear, and he leveled his steady glare at the man, who unfortunately had spent too many years at his side to be truly intimidated by the look. He was further undermined by a soft snort to his right, and he turned in betrayal to the Ekon next to him. Reid was still fighting to get his face under control, smile still tugging at his lips as he whispered, “He has a point.” 

“Bastard,” he hissed back. He wasn’t sure who to concentrate his rage on, the vampire beside him or his traitor second. The exchange seemed to put some of the guards at ease though, apparently ridiculing McCullum was a uniting force. The man in question’s scowl deepened. 

“There’s reports of a sewer beast causing trouble ‘round the docks,” he snarled. He rattled off a list of names, including Roberts, bringing the total crew for the hunt up to six. All of them were men McCullum trusted not to shoot Reid in the back; some of them might even make the effort to get to know the man behind the leech. Ironic, that McCullum was concerned about his men giving a vampire a chance, considering his history. 

“Now if you prats are _finished_ , we’re going to do our damn jobs, and Reid is going to help.” 

\------

There was not one sewer beast creating the carnage on the beachfront. 

There were two of them. And a Vulkod.

If it had been a regular patrol that had happened across the beasts, they would have been ripped to shreds. Any hunter with a shred of sense would have turned tail and come back with no less than twelve men to eradicate the threat, and even then losses would have been expected. 

As it was, Jonathan simply offered him a hunter’s smile, sharklike and anticipatory. “Your men are watching. Let’s give them a show, shall we?” His fangs glinted in the moonlight, light eyes dark with promised violence for those who stood against him and he looked every bit the predator he was reborn to be. He was breathtaking.

_Oh, fuck._

McCullum had made a terrible mistake. He could only nod at Reid, unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. 

Shadows erupted with a wave of Reid’s hand, sending the beasts stumbling. Reid was on one of them in an instant, tearing into its throat with ferocious intent. Geoffrey found his voice in time to offer a warrior’s cry, leading his men into the fray with fire and brimstone and the shine of torchlight on steel. 

His men circled the beasts like the eager war dogs they were, snapping and lunging and dancing out of the reach of the remaining beast’s menacing claws. 

And Reid, Reid was a thing of beauty. He raged in a tempest of his own creation, shadows and shining sword, teeth and claws as he engaged the Vulkod on his own. McCullum’s heart leapt into his threat as one of the Vulkod’s monstrous fists connected with his stomach, knocking the man to the ground. If that had been any mere mortal, they would not be getting up any time soon, if at all. But Reid? Reid _laughed_. From his position with his back against the ground, he kicked his legs to rise up in an eerily sinuous motion, then he was back on the attack. The battle continued.

Despite having its throat viciously shredded, the first beast was not as dead as they initially presumed. Before any of them could react, it raked a bloody gash down Jonathan’s back, pushing him right into the Vulkod’s claws. Geoffrey’s heart leapt into his throat as Jonathan struggled to throw himself bodily out of the way of the attack, catching a glancing slash to his thigh instead. 

Reid snarled, the sound darker and more animal than McCullum had ever heard him sound before. He turned, claws puncturing the beast’s stomach before using his sword to finish the job. The Vulkod was creeping up behind him, evidently uncaring of the Priwen guards in the face of the traitor who worked with them. It raised its arm to deal a crushing blow.

A wet, squishy sound, surprisingly noticeable despite its quiet impact, interrupted the swing. The Vulkod froze, taking a moment to process the hole that had manifested in its stomach from McCullum’s crossbow, before howling in rage. It wheeled about to face Geoffrey, already vengefully swiping at the hunter. It managed to land a clumsy backhand against him, although Geoffrey managed to avoid the majority of the damage and land a hit of his own. He grunted with the effort of staying on his feet -- even a glancing blow from a Vulkod packed a punch. 

It was around this time that Jonathan put down the beast and was able to take stock of the situation. Another vicious snarl was all the warning the Vulkod received before the vampire slammed into it with the force of a freight train meeting a stone wall.

It didn’t stand a chance. 

The two fought in tandem, Reid’s flurry of furious strikes being complemented with blows from McCullum’s broadsword. Geoffrey had no idea what fueled Reid’s sudden anger, what brought the renewed crushing power to his attacks, as if the Vulkod had somehow personally offended him. It was at once chilling and enchanting. 

The fight ended as abruptly as it had started. Reid punched a stake through the beast’s heart with a staggering amount of force. It crumbled to the ground, face frozen in a shocked snarl. 

Reid barely wasted a moment on watching the husk fall, advancing on Geoffrey so quickly that habit had him halfway to raising his sword in self defense before he caught the look on the other man’s face. He paused, paralyzed in the deadlights of Jonathan’s electric gaze. 

“Are you alright, Geoffrey,” he asked quietly, reaching to gently grasp the back of his arm in a way that felt far too intimate for the grimy silt of the Thames' shores, surrounded by the corpses of dead monsters. Still, McCullum felt no desire to pull away. Jonathan’s quiet exhale ghosted across McCullum’s skin as grey eyes, warm with concern, traced his face. 

The moment stretched into an eternity, with something delicate balanced on the taught line between the pair’s gaze. Neither of them could look away. 

That is, until one of his men gave a low whistle and said. “Well, it’s nice to have that sort of firepower on our side for once.” 

“Doesn’t mean we should trust ‘im, though.” Another quietly muttered. 

Reid snapped out whatever trance had kept him locked on Geoffrey. He quickly removed his hand as guilt flickered across his expression, so brief that the hunter would have missed it if he hadn’t been close enough to see every minute twitch of his face. A phantom warmth lingered where Reid’s hand had been.

McCullum shook himself out of his daze. This was dangerous territory, uncharted waters. It would be a betrayal to Priwen and to his mentor’s memory to let himself fall any further. 

“I’m fine, Reid.” He assured gruffly. He decisively stepped back, pitching his voice to the rest of their group. “Alright lads, after that, I think we’ve earned ourselves a drink. Next round at the Turtle is on me.”

Cheers rose up. The men turned, heads already filling with prospects of warm fires and good drinks, only a few sparing a glance for the leech at their backs. Reid watched from the shadows, his lips twisting in a way that would look like a smile if there wasn’t so much sadness in his eyes. 

Geoffrey lingered, looking at the doctor for a moment too long with an expression that was a touch too soft. He let his men amble away, then dawned a disaffected mask. “Oi, Reid, are you going to join us at the Turtle or are you just going to sulk over there?” Damn it, his voice still sounded too tender. It felt like someone had flung him twenty years into the past, feeling too awkward and exposed. He felt like he didn’t fit into his body, and he just had to thank Christ above that his voice no longer cracked.

Reid looked taken aback, however, at McCullum’s inquiry. “You’d,” he hesitated, “want me there?”

Geoffrey snorted, nonchalance a little less of an act now, although his heart still softened at the vampire’s surprise. _He must have been so lonely since turning_. The thought sent a pang through him. “‘Course you’re invited. The real issue would be if you tried to get out of it. It’s tradition. You join us for the hunt, you join us at the Turtle after. Now come on,” he tugged the man’s wrist, “You might not be able to drink but you’re still coming.” 

Jonathan relaxed, tension draining from his shoulders. He hadn’t been afraid during the battle, quite the opposite. He had _relished_ in the battle-havoc. Afterwards, however, he had tensed, half-expecting Priwen’s weapons to be aimed at him in some mixture of disgust and fear. And he couldn’t have blamed them, not really, not when he was all teeth and claws and shadows, too vicious to be comfortable for any mortal man and taking too much joy in the violence to be comfortable with _himself_. So the calm was a strange relief, the implicit trust given with the invitation. He breathed, feeling a fear he wasn’t entirely aware of leaving his body. Jonathan smiled, a real smile, the likes of which Geoffrey hadn’t seen before. It did funny things to his insides. “Alright, McCullum, if you insist.”

“I do -- insist, I mean.” 

The walk to rejoin the rest of the crew was spent in companionable silence. That is, until Jonathan stopped right outside the doorway, hesitating again. Geoffrey stopped with him. “Not getting cold feet now, are we?” 

“No. It’s just,” he paused, then the confession poured out like a burst dam, “I shouldn’t have missed that, but I did -- the fighting, hurting, _killing_ another being. It’s monstrous.” McCullum knew what he meant, the way that all thoughts faded to the background when your life was on the line and the thrill of the hunt was in your veins. “I was never a fighter until the war, and even then I was a doctor first, spending most of my time _undoing_ the damage wrought by the surrounding violence. Now, I seek it out, and it should feel wrong, and it feels wrong that it doesn't, does that make any sense? I'm not the man I used to be, I'm still coming to terms with that, but I'm afraid of what I may become.” 

All McCullum had known since he was fourteen was the hunt. Exterminating all leeches had been his only purpose, until Jonathan Reid had swept in and turned his perceptions on their head. It wasn’t that he found _pleasure_ in the hunt -- okay, that was a lie, he did -- but primarily what drove him was the satisfaction of knowing he was making London’s streets safer, preventing the tragedy that happened to him from striking another family. Guilt wasn't really an emotion he associated with his work.

“Reid, look at me.” He ordered, grabbing the other man’s chin to force him to meet his eyes. Emotions raged in those stormy eyes, grey shot through with blue and hazel, too much guilt for a man who has done so much good. Geoffrey kept his gaze steady, trying to psychically hammer the words home even though he wasn’t the one with the ability to mesmerise others. “You aren’t evil, not by a long shot. You’re just a man who was dealt a shite hand and has been trying his hardest to do some good in this fucked-up world. You’re not evil for having impulses, it’s how you direct them that matters. It would be insane to suppress them completely -- you’d snap. And you’re smart enough to recognize that, so you found an outlet that allows you to keep doing good while harnessing that energy. You found me,” He said, puffing out his chest. Seeing Jonathan still didn’t believe him, he brought his face closer, foreheads touching in a way that sent his stomach swooping like he was staring into a great abyss.

“No monster would go out, night after night, healing the sick for free, even when they’d sooner spit in your face than thank you, or risk his life to fight the _Red Queen_ , mother of all vampires and progenitor of chaos, to end an epidemic that couldn’t hurt you. No monster would feel guilt like you, or do everything in his power to make things better like you have. Jonathan Emmett Reid,” that feeling of staring into an abyss magnified, and now he was wondering if he was hurtling headlong into it rather than simply looking, “you are not a monster.” 

Jonathan watched him, eyes centimeters from McCullum’s own, ringed by thick dark lashes that made his gaze all the more piercing. “Thank you, Geoffrey,” he said quietly. The guilt was still there, in his eyes, he suspected it was always there, but it was no longer threatening to drown the man. 

“Right,” he whispered. He blushed, struck by the intimacy of the moment, and straightened. “Right,” he said a little louder, clearing his throat as if he could brush away… whatever that was. “Now, if you’re done with making yourself feel guilty over having wants, I need a drink. It’s been a long night.”

“ _Y_ _ou_ need a drink,” Jonathan scoffed, not confronting McCullum over the sudden change of course, “I’m the one who did all the work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I want to post something bc I love that validation  
> My brain: you actually have to write something to post it tho  
> Me: *surprised pikachu face*
> 
> In other news, I think I've finally determined that I'm going to make this five chapters in total! Funny that it started out as a one shot, but I just love this banter bois


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet y'all thought this story was dead huh  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> sike
> 
> Update 2/2: None of my works are abandoned! However seasonal depression is a bastard that makes it hard to write, so encouragement is welcome. Will be back from the pit of numbness at some point hopefully

Surprisingly, fewer guards objected to his presence in the pub than Jonathan had expected. Perhaps it was the fact that there were civilians that could quickly become collateral damage if the situation became hostile, or the plain fact that the Turquoise Turtle was one of the few pubs in London where Priwen wasn’t outright banned from celebrating after a hunt. Jonathan had been told, later, that most bartenders weren’t too fond of boisterous, blood-covered men scaring off most of their patrons, and of the ones that weren’t put off by that, Tom Watts sold the best drink. 

Maybe they simply trusted Geoffrey McCullum’s judgement enough to tolerate him, or the sheer absurdity of the notorious leader of Priwen vouching for a leech was enough to stay their hands. 

_That wasn’t to say they were_ rushing _to socialize with him though_ , Jonathan mused to himself as he stood along a back wall, watching the antics of the guards before him. Geoffrey had excused himself a few minutes earlier, promising he’d be back with a drink shortly. It looked like he’d been drawn into some sort of back-slapping huddle on the way, the doctor noted with amusement.

More of Priwen outside of McCullum’s hunting party filtered in as time passed. If McCullum’s squad had been tentatively polite, the reactions from the other groups were considerably more mixed. A few would offer wary glances, and some even gave him a respectful nod, but for the most part, they simply gave him a wide berth and continued the night with a leech at their backs. Others, though, objected more vigorously.

“We’re supposed to be hunting beasts like him, not sharing a pint,” a guard said, scowling at Reid. Jonathan pretended not to hear, which was easy enough in a crowded pub. 

So far, however, none of the hunters had gathered up the courage to disobey McCullum and confront him. 

The sheer awkwardness made him consider fleeing to the safety of his office, where at least Lisa didn’t expect him to make conversation _or_ turn into a ravening monster. The wariness was worse than outright hostility, which would have motivated him to socialize, if only to prove them wrong. He was just shifting his weight, resolving to quietly slip out the back entrance, when Geoffrey returned. “Grabbed a table,” he announced proudly, “Come and sit with us.” Jonathan didn’t have much say in the matter, really, since a strong hand wrapped around his wrist, the hunter’s palm nearly feverishly hot against his cool skin. 

He found himself in the chair next to Geoffrey’s, finger tracing the rim of an empty mug just to keep his hands busy, while the illustrious leader of the Guard of Priwen held court. Starry eyed recruits and worn veterans came to talk with the man. Roberts, whose first name was Walter, as he came to learn, and another one of Geoffrey’s lieutenants were seated at the table as well, along with Priwen’s head medic, Ciprian “Chip” Baciu. Jonathan was quickly drawn into a conversation with the man. He found himself relaxing on the familiar grounds of combat trauma, and the importance of quick treatment. Baciu boasted about how he hounded McCullum and scrabbled together the supplies to test the blood type of each member of Priwen, compiling a list for quicker transfusions. He had also prepared emergency kits for each patrol leader, forcing the kits, complete with stitches, gauze, and a flask of rubbing alcohol, to become part of the standard procedure. Jonathan was impressed, and had just begun promising the man access to his collection of medical texts, when a half filled mug of beer was slammed rather aggressively on the round table. The inhabitants of said table immediately located the source: a giant of a man, likely half a head taller than Jonathan and twice as thick, glaring furiously at the whole table. 

Geoffrey leaned his chair onto its back legs, hands casually cradling the back of his head. The boisterous Geoffrey, the one who joked with his men and bantered with Reid, was gone, replaced in an instant with the man who stared down monsters with that same cool glare. “Got something to say, Hopper?”

“Yeah, I do actually,” the man began conversationally, before the false friendliness dipped into outrage. He slammed a fist down on the wood. “I want to know what the _fuck_ you’re thinking, bringing this monster here, giving him a place at your fucking table. We should be sticking a stake through its chest.”

“ _He_ is Dr. Reid, and this is something we should be discussing at headquarters, not out in the open.” The hunter’s voice was low and faux-casual. The whole time, Geoffrey didn’t move from his relaxed pose, though Jonathan could see the tension in his muscles as he prepared himself for a brawl. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more, the hostility or the way the hunter pretended he wasn’t here, but Jonathan wisely kept his mouth shut for the moment, electing to watch the battle of wills in front of him instead. 

There was a warning in McCullum’s voice, his temper just barely in check. _Back down now,_ he was saying, _or it’s going to get ugly_. Hopper evidently recognized the threat; whether he would heed it was yet to be decided. 

Time stretched like a trigger wire between the two of them. 

Hopper’s eyes were wide. “You’ve been compromised,” he breathed. 

The temper Geoffrey had been working hard to keep in check snapped. He grabbed the man by his collar, forcing him down to eye level. “I will _never_ abandon Priwen’s principles,” he hissed. McCullum let go of the fistful of cloth, and shoved Hopper back, the both of them snarling like wild animals. “Now get out of my sight.” 

Hopper stumbled over the uneven floorboards, arms flailing. One of the guards that had surrounded them to watch the conflict caught him. The man gave McCullum one last glare, who returned it with equal intensity, before stalking out of the pub. A handful of Guardsmen followed him.

Jonathan suppressed the urge to reach out to McCullum, wanting to comfort him in some way but knowing this was hardly the place for a vampire’s thanks. Geoffrey leaned back into his chair, the anger leaving him in one quick rush and only an exhausted set of nerves in its place. The confrontation brought questions that had swirling in his subconscious to the forefront of his mind, unease churning in his gut. _How_ could he justify Reid’s presence here, how could he justify not taking any opportunity to kill him? Priwen doesn’t compromise with leeches. Exterminating vampires was their sole ordinance. So why was Reid different?

 _“He just was"_ was hardly the explanation he was looking for. He had met leeches that claimed not to kill humans before, and cut them down just as indiscriminately. It was only a matter of time until they snapped, and he knew it. Reid shouldn’t be any different. He sipped his beer pensively. 

Someone kicked him in the shin. “Chin up, McCullum,” Roberts said in response to his glare, “The men are watching.” 

It was true. Any of the guardsmen that weren’t three sheets to the wind were watching him with questioning eyes. “As you were,” he said gruffly, dismissing them with a nod. 

Gradually, Priwen returned to their drinks and individual conversations, but the unease lingered in a miasma over the pub. 

Jonathan kept silent, eyes flickering between the various inhabitants of the pub, but always, inexorably, returning to McCullum. Chip attempted to draw him back into conversation, and he tried to return the effort, but he knew his enthusiasm was lacking. 

Eventually, the guards began filtering out. McCullum sighed. “Alright, Reid, let’s get you home.”

“I can make my own way home,” he protested politely. “I don’t want to make you go so far out of your way.”

Geoffrey shrugged indifferently, “Might as well make sure Hopper isn’t staking out your route home.” 

_Ah,_ Jonathan thought. He felt rather small; it was egotistical to think McCullum wanted to join him for his _company._ His mouth gave a grim little twist which, in particularly poor lighting, could be mistaken for a smile. “Right then, I’m ready when you are.”

The cool night air was a relief to McCullum, whose blood was still boiling just under his skin, unspent aggression itching at his fingertips. It was, admittedly, not his best mindset, but not a rare one either. Reid stayed quiet next to him, both of them drawn into their own minds.

The vampire kept darting concerned glances at him, and it was getting on his nerves, which had already been worn preciously thin. Their feet traced the well worn path back to Pembroke with ease. He thought about asking Reid why he wasn’t headed back to his fancy mansion, but decided that was his own business and kept his mouth shut.

Nearly halfway to Pembroke, Jonathan finally allowed himself to relax. He knew, from the hectic days of the epidemic, where the best ambush spots on the route were, and they had bypassed all but the last without trouble. His senses were still razor sharp, scanning their surroundings constantly for threats, but the tension had bled from his back. Eyeing Geoffrey, however, he could tell that the hunter was still worked up; Jonathan could see his dilated veins, coursing through his body in preparation for a fight that wouldn’t come tonight, powered by a heart pumping in an angry but steady tattoo. 

He didn’t know what he could possibly say to break the silence between them. 

Geoffrey did it for him. “I guess Hopper had enough sense to go back to headquarters,” he grunted. 

“Are you worried he’s going to cause trouble, maybe gather supporters?” The question had been on the tip of Reid’s tongue since Hopper first cornered them at the table. Unlike the rest of Priwen, he heard the man’s whispered accusation. Guilt set his fingers twitching; he was the one who talked McCullum into this, after all, he should have considered the position he was putting the hunter in more thoroughly. It was naive to think that Priwen would accept him hunting _with_ them just because they had stopped trying to kill him in the street. 

“Probably.” McCullum grunted again, evidently not in the mood to talk. 

“McCullum,” Jonathan started, “I believe I owe you an apology.” 

“What?” That startled the hunter enough to speak in more than grunts. 

“It’s my fault that you’re in this situation in the first place. If I hadn’t talked you into bringing me with you on a hunt, this wouldn’t have happened. I hadn’t considered the discord that could be sown. I’m sorry.” 

Geoffrey stared at him in utter silence for a long moment. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping. “No Reid, I brought this on myself. I should’ve known something like this would happen from the moment I ordered you to be left alone.”

They were edging closer to the Pembroke, Jonathan’s senses on alert as they passed through the last ambush spot, even as his eyes never left the hunter’s. They passed without incident, nearly onto Pembroke’s grounds now.

“Still,” he said, “I’d understand if you’d prefer to keep me out of future hunts, though I’m happy to offer my aid.” 

“Are you joking?” Geoffrey snapped, “If I backed down that’s showing weakness. No, we’re committed now. I’m in this shit as much as you are.” 

McCullum stopped as he spoke, pinning Jonathan with his intense glare. He pushed his hand into Reid’s chest. “My rep depends on this, so _don’t_ make me regret it.”

The phantom warmth from McCullum’s palm lingered where he pushed. Jonathan nodded solemnly, “I won’t.” 

Geoffrey stepped back from where he had been crowding Reid’s space, drawn closer without realizing it. “Right, then.” Back to grunting. 

The vampire gave him an odd sort of smile. Geoffrey didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t his usual teasing grin, or the fierce baring of teeth he had offered right before combat, it was too...soft. 

“Goodnight, hunter,” Reid said. 

Geoffrey grunted, and Reid vanished into the hustle and bustle of the hospital without another word. 


End file.
